From Jersey to Yonkers - August 17, 2005
One of the things I’ve figured out about artistic expression, is that you never really know what your niche is until you actually get in the pit. Mark Twain started out writing travel articles, Luther Vandross got his first break writing commercial jingles, you just never know.
I used to always look forward to having a job that afforded me the opportunity to travel and see different places. I haven’t done much international travel, save for the Caribbean, Mexico and Canada, but I have done extensive travel across this great land known as the United States of America.
The life of the business traveler can be a peculiar one. Beyond the excitement of visiting different cities and enjoying all of the experiences they have to offer, there is the drudgery of the whole, packing, unpacking, dropping off your car, checking in for a flight, getting your bags, getting ground transportation, checking in to hotels, doing your business, then reversing the whole travel procedure. The whole ‘procedure’ part can get kinda stale after awhile.
It’s a lot easier when you’re traveling light, but if you have suitcase(s), golf clubs, laptops, book bags, engineering plans and whatever else can weigh you down, enjoying the ride will be contingent upon efficient planning and packing.
I usually drive my car to the airport park and ride and catch the shuttle bus over to the airport terminal. Although my company picks up all the travel expenses, off-lot parking is a lot more affordable than parking at the airport terminal.
Normally I prefer checking my bags on the curb with the skycaps, because it’s usually quicker than going inside to the check-in counter and it’s usually brothers working the bags. I enjoy their company and conversation, because it’s quite often my last opportunity to talk to one of ‘my people’ before I embark on a journey where I am surrounded by people of other races and colors.
On this particular trip, my flight left at 6AM CST, and since we’re dealing with a heightened level of airport security, you usually need to check in at least an hour before your flight leaves. The skycaps don’t open that early, so I had to check in at the counter inside the terminal. Some people don’t like using the skycaps, because it’s a common business courtesy to tip the skycaps and they don’t want to spend the money. I usually tip $2/bag, and if I have a suitcase and golf clubs, I’ll give em a fiver. But that’s me..some people tip more, some tip less. My wife’s grandfather happened to be a skycap for over 30 years, so my consciousness of making sure they’re taken care of is probably a bit higher than others.
Once you get inside to the terminal for check in, the first thing you have to do is show them some photo identification. The days of paper tickets are quickly fading away, everything is done electronically. Once they verify that your name and face matches up to the itinerary, they check in your bags and give you your boarding pass so that you can proceed to the security clearance area. You can print your boarding passes out electronically at home, but if you have to check in bags, you might as well have them print it out for you.
Now this security clearance thing is on a whole different level since September 11th. You have to stand in another line and wait to get screened. They check your photo ID and your boarding pass, if you don’t have either one of those, then you can’t proceed into the terminal.
Next you have put all of your carry on items on a conveyer belt so that they can scan it threw the X-ray machines to make sure you don’t have any bombs or weapons that you’re trying to sneak on the plane. They even had that one dude who had a bomb planted in his shoes that they caught. Thanks to him, now we usually have to take off our shoes and have them put through the X-ray machine too..so make sure you have on some clean socks!
After all of your items are loaded onto the belt, then they summon you to walk through the metal detector. I don’t know if this is a black thing or a guilty conscience or what, but every time I get ready to walk through those things, I have this sudden rush of anxiety, wondering if I have inadvertently left a knife or something in my pocket. I always have visions of walking through the detector and the alarm going off and all the security personnel rushing over to arrest me.
BWAUNK! BWAUNK! BWAUNK! Security Alert! Security Alert! There’s a negroe with no shoes on going through checkpoint 5, we think he has a weapon!!
I know some of ya’ll might think I’m tripping (especially the white people), but there was one time when they made me walk through that detector 3 times, I took off everything..shoes, belt, watch, wedding ring..they finally called me over to be hand searched..just as I was gathering my things to go over to the ‘yo az in trouble now n’ga!’ section, I looked back to see this white dude walk through the same detector with 3 gold chains, a ring on every finger and a biggo Texas belt buckle and the alarm didn’t go off. So you can’t tell me that they can’t make that thing go off when they want to.
I even made a conscious effort to point this out to the two guys who were going to search me,
“What kind of bull$%@ is this?? How come that thang ain’t going off for him??!!”
They both glanced at each other with this, ‘This n’ga ain’t as dumb as the rest of them’ look, then they just hurriedly escorted me over to the search area.
No matter what you do, when you go through the security area, don’t make any ‘bomb’ jokes, because if you even make a joke about a terrorist, guns or bombs, yo az is subject to miss your plane and wind up back in an interrogation room for a couple of hours.
So once you’re through security, you find your gate, which depending on the airport that you’re in, may require you taking a train or shuttle if it’s a large airport. I prefer traveling as early as possible, because then you don’t have to deal with such large crowds and long lines.
Boarding the plane usually reminds me of cows. They call your row numbers in groups for boarding and you have to line up and proceed down the ramp to board the plane, kinda like cows being herded. Some people are too freaked out with claustrophobia or just the mere thought of being in a machine that weighs thousands of pounds that is flying thousands of feet in the air. I’ve been on jumbo jets, as well as planes so small that I could reach out my hand and touch the pilot. My preference is for bigger planes, the bigger the better, but I ain’t scaid to fly. We all have our day to go, and if I was to go in an airplane crash, I would figure the pain felt would be instantaneous and not long and drawn out, so I’m cool with that.
First class is for the ballers. Big seats, lots of leg room, first class service..it’s definitely the way to fly. But all of us field n’gaz gotta sit in coach. I’ve always wanted to be the last person to board and just sit in first class until somebody told me I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I haven’t summoned the cohones to pull that stunt off yet, unlike Elaine in that Seinfield episode.
Once I arrived into Newark and we got off the plane, the first thing I had to do was find the baggage terminal. You gotta go to the carousels and wait for your luggage to come down the chute. Since the whole meeting was in the New York area, I knew it was best not to bother with renting a car, since I was going to be in New York, I was going to live like a New Yorker and make my way around town via taxis, buses and the expansive New York Metropolitan subway system.
I grabbed a car service at the baggage claim, and when I got in the car, I quickly realized that this guy was from some eastern bloc country. Turns out he was Russian and we had a nice little conversation comparing and contrasting Russia to New York to Texas. I threw a couple of Russian buzzwords out there that I knew like..Putin..the rescued Russian submarine..Mir..and he just took off with all of it and I was able to learn more from him.
He dropped me off at my hotel, I checked in for the conference, I checked into my room, I unloaded my bags and I opened my curtains to take a view out of the window as I called my boy Ty (I think you better callll Tyrone..call him!) in Brooklyn. Our plan was to catch the afternoon Yankee game and we had to solidify the particulars of where and when we were going to meet each other.
Since Ty was in Brooklyn, I was in Jersey City and the game was in the Bronx, we decided to meet on the train platform on 14th street, so that we could take the 4 train up to the boogie down Bronx to check out the Bombers. I had to first take the ($1.50) PATH train which goes under the Hudson River to the World Trade Center, ground zero.
It’s still kinda eerie seeing the place where the World Trade Centers USED to be. I always find myself imagining what it would have been like if I was at that exact same spot when those airplanes hit.
From there I had to walk across the street and take a train to 14th. It costs $2 to get through the turnstiles, so I just bought a metro card for $40, which you swipe through the turnstile and it automatically deducts your fee each time you go through. The good thing about the train, is that once you get IN, you can ride all day if you want to. There aren’t any transfer fees.
I met Ty on the platform ‘toward the back of the train’ as we planned..
"My n’ga!"
"What’s up kid?! You ready to go catch this game or what?"
"I stay ready."
"Let’s go then!"
We hopped on the next train and made our way out to the Bronx. It took a minute to get out there, but that just gave us a chance to catch up with each other a bit and people watch. When we got off at Yankee Stadium, I felt like I was stepping unto a platform that millions of baseball fans throughout history had made the pilgrimage to the house that Ruth built through.
We had some $40 tickets, which I thought were pretty good. I actually didn’t care if we were on the roof, I was just happy to be IN Yankee stadium and watching a game for the first time in my life. We were both coon smiling and taking pictures and stuff (the game had already started) and we presented our tickets to one of the ushers. I was looking around feeling like Bob Uecker (I must be in the FRONT row!!) when the usher pointed us to the stairs..
"Yeah, yeah..youse guys are all the way at the top."
"At the top??? "
"Yeah, yeah..ALL the way to the top..don’t stop."
$40 dollar tickets don’t get you too close to the field at Yankee stadium, Steinbrenner gotta make that money mane. Instead of saying ‘ya’ll’ most of those northern Yankees say, ‘youse’..it looks kinda strange on paper, but when you hear it, you just kinda get used to it.
We had a few dogs, enjoyed a few brews, and a gorgeous afternoon day at the ballpark.When the game was over we headed back to the train and landed back in Brooklyn. The dogs kinda got digested quickly by the beer, so by this time I was having visions of my man Radio Raheem (TWO SLICES!) and my taste buds were set on some good ol New York pizza..so Ty bought a pie..and we headed back to his place to eat it.
After we ate, the effect of waking up at 2:30 AM EST and traveling almost 2 thousand miles started to take over me, and my body was calling for a nap. So I crashed out on Ty’s couch for a minute while I listened to the sounds of Brooklyn wafting up over the drone of the air conditioner and fan. New York was feeling real good to me.
We had scheduled to meet up with some of our Stanford friends later that evening. They happened to live in Brooklyn too, but it was far away enough that we had to ride a bus. Fortunately the Metro card for the subway works on the bus too, so you don’t have to carry cash to ride.
One of the best things about attending Stanford (1988-1992) was being able to hook up with some very real people. A lot of folks assume that Stanford graduates are snotty, rich and stuck up..which some are. But the group of folks that I formed a bond with operated as a family, The Bruhs. We all looked out for each other, we partied together, we studied together, we traveled together, and we all keep up with each other even now.
The weird part is seeing folks you knew back in college who used to be BUCKWILD, and now they’re living the domesticated life of a responsible husband and father. At least, I know a lot of people trip out when they see me these days, because when I was in college, I was the dude that the spotlight would go on when we were all partying and getting our groove on, and that part of Slick Rick’s ‘Children’s Story’ would come on..
“Dave the dope fiend shooting that dope, who don’t know the meaning of water or soap!”
Everybody would start pointing to me and I’d start doing that monkey-coon dance..’showing out’ if you will. Of course I wasn’t a dope shooter, cuz I have an aversion to needles..but um..anyway, I digress.
Now we all just get together and enjoy our families, hugging the babies and getting acquainted with all the little ones. This particular friend who’s house we visited in Brooklyn is one of the Bruhs who had already been at Stanford when my class arrived and he did his part in looking out for us and showing us the ropes on what it takes to succeed and he continues to be on the forefront of Bruhs who are pioneering there way toward achieving financial freedom in our world today. http://www.icvcapital.com/management.html
Unfortunately, most black families today have their home lives revolve around a television. You see one in almost every room in a lot of working class homes today. But there’s one thing that I’ve learned from being around progressive families, is that television is an afterthought. Instead the focus is on conversation and real human interaction, instead of images that are force fed into your brain by the American media.
We all just got into our own little circles and ate take out, had a drink or two and just enjoyed each other’s company and conversation. There’s a large contingent of Stanford alumni that lives in Brooklyn and fortunately I was able to catch up with a few of them and share in a hug and a smile.
After we left the family gathering, Ty and I headed on over to a club in Manhattan, where another one of our Stanford friends was celebrating her birthday. (Happy Birthday Flo and thanks for the hookup!). Flo introduced me to a brother named Milton Allimadi, who is the publisher and CEO of www.blackstarnews.com. We ended up hooking up with a couple of Ty’s friends from overseas and the next thing you know we were in the midst of a full scale party. You know it’s getting good when the DJ starts flipping some vinyl that’s some of that old school hip hop and everyone in the club is reciting the lyrics..
“I said, eenie-meenie-minie-moe..I wreck the mic like a pimp pimps hoz!” – DWYCK, Gangstarr featuring Nice&Smooth
Of course, by this time it’s after 3:00 AM EST, and usually in Houston, this is time for the club to be closing and everybody to be heading out to a 24-Hour breakfast place or heading home. But since this is New York, where the city NEVER sleeps, this was just the launching pad, we headed over to another club not too far away and we got into that groove thang again.
This next spot we hit was a bit more…liberal, kinda club if you will. I consider myself a conservative person, but I’m not the kind of guy that’s going to trip out on a lot of things. I mean, if I’m in a club, and I look on the dance floor and see 2 dudes dancing close together, I’m not going to freak out. I’ll casually peruse through the room and make sure it’s not a club FULL of dudes dancing together. On the same note, if I see 2 chicks dancing close together, I usually start smiling, I dunno, I’m weird like that.
This was the kind of club were everything is fair game, but the mood was good and the brews were cold, so I had a good time enjoying the beats and watching how everybody was doing their own thang. Some people were dancing together, some people were grooving on their own, but the key element is that it wasn’t anybody tripping. Nobody was confrontational or trying to fight, nobody was trying to invade my space..so I was cool with it.
I finally ended up tumbling into the back seat of a taxi at about 5:30 am and it took me back to the World Trade Center and I caught the PATH train back over to Jersey. I ended up crawling into my bed at a little after 6 and I had to be back up at 7:30 for a meeting in the morning. I figured I’d just have to catch up on my rest when I got back home, because I was in New York, the city that never sleeps. [End Day 1]
